


Lunatic

by J_L_Nevole (Brambleshadow_of_WindClan)



Series: Moonlight [4]
Category: Def Leppard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Gen, Pyromania Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:38:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/J_L_Nevole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sav couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured out Joe’s secret before. Now that he knew it, upon looking back there were several signs that he had missed: Joe’s darker mood during the days of the full moon, the times he would snap and growl at various band members, and the way he could just appear silently out of nowhere.</i> </p><p>Sav helps Joe through a full moon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunatic

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Season 1 _Teen Wolf_ episode "Lunatic" and [Waiting](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7746618/1/Waiting) by cbassluv.
> 
> While my other stories in this 'verse take place in '87, this story takes place in 1982. Feel free to slide up and down the months as you wish, but it's before the guys replaced Pete with Phil, like probably a few days before.

Sav couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured out Joe’s secret before. Now that he knew it, upon looking back there were several signs that he had missed: Joe’s darker mood during the days of the full moon, the times he would snap and growl at various band members, and the way he could just appear silently out of nowhere. Sav, Steve, Pete, or Rick (depending on who was in the room) would subsequently jump a foot in the air, yelp, and drop whatever they were holding, much to Joe’s obvious amusement. The bassist never found it funny and told Joe as such on multiple occasions—not that it did any good.

Currently, Sav was eyeing the singer warily. The band was in the recording studio trying to work on yet another song for the _Pyromania_ album . . . and tonight just happened to be the full moon—a Change Night, as Joe called it. As far as Sav knew, he was the only member of Def Leppard who knew their lead singer was a lycanthrope, shapeshifter, werewolf, whatever you wanted to call it. To be frank, knowing Joe’s secret scared him half to death. The first time he’d seen Joe in ’wolf form, the lycanthrope had tried to kill him. He’d had nightmares for weeks afterward.

Now, in the studio, Sav flinched when he caught Joe looking in his direction, pale-green eyes darkening to emerald. Not surprising, considering Sav _had_ been eyeing the singer carefully.

Then Joe was walking over to him, sitting down in the chair next to the bassist. He asked, “How’s it coming?”

“Still can’t quite get the riff for ‘Foolin’’.”

“You’ll get it.” Joe paused, shifted his weight. “Why’re you watching me, Sav?”

“You know why,” he murmured, nervously picking at the strings of his bass. “You tried to kill me.”

“I’m not normally like that when I shift, Sav.”

The bassist smiled a little. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s your time of the month, isn’t it.” It was more of a statement than a question. 

“That’s not funny, Sav.”

“Really? I thought it was hilarious.”

“You don’t want to be making jokes like that, not when I’m feeling like this.” The ’wolf’s eyes flared turquoise. “Don’t push me, Savage.”

“Sorry,” he said quickly.

The door to the studio opened and Mutt Lange, their producer, stuck his head in: “Everything okay in here?”

Sav glanced at Joe only to find his bandmate’s face was expressionless. He replied, “We’re fine, Mutt.”

“You’re sure?”

Joe nodded and waved his hand in a “go away” fashion. Mutt’s expression clouded over; but he backed out anyway, shutting the door behind him.

Sav, once he was sure that Mutt was gone, studied his friend. “Are you sure you’re all right, mate?”

“No.” The singer’s voice was rough, with a gravelly undertone. It was almost like he was trying not to growl. “I can’t concentrate. All this noise, everyone’s emotions, my emotions, my senses . . . The full moon turns ’em up to ten.”

“That’s—”

“It sucks.”

Sav chuckled a little. Joe could make him so amused . . . and flustered . . . and confused with some of his comments.

Joe glared. “It’s. _Not. Funny_.”

Sav’s small smile faded. “I know. Sorry. So, what do you say we go somewhere else, eh?”

The werewolf frowned. “Huh?”

Joe’s best mate rolled his eyes. “As in, take off, do some sightseeing, have fun. Maybe find you a girl.”

_Now_ Joe looked interested. His voice, though, was dead serious: “I don’t need a girl.”

“Then what do you need?”

“Food.”

“What kind of food?”

“It must be blood,” Joe said in a low voice. Sav looked queasy as he continued, “It must be fresh.”

“Joe, that’s disgusting.”

The singer merely grinned. “I’m just messin’ with ya. Haven’t you ever seen _Little Shop of Horrors_?”

“In Sheffield? You must be joking.” Sav wanted to punch him for the fresh blood comment. That _really_ hadn’t been funny, and—

“Hey, you made a werewolf joke.”

“ _Little Shop_ quote, but close enough. And of course I didn’t mean Sheffield. I meant like in London or something.”

“So I take it you wanna ditch,” Sav remarked after a moment’s thought.

“Hell yeah,” Joe said with a smile.

*

A very short time later, both of them were wondering if leaving the studio without telling Mutt was such a great idea after all. Joe flinched at the sound of every passing car and twisted his head around to track it with his gaze.

“If you start chasing cars,” Sav warned, “I’m not coming after you.”

Joe looked offended. “Werewolves don’t chase cars. We’re not dogs.”

“I’m sure some people would beg to differ.”

“That’s a horrible pun.”

Sav grinned. “Was it? I hadn’t noticed.”

Joe growled, and Sav could see budding canines. The bassist gulped and frantically cast his mind around for a change of topic. As he did so, he caught sight of a couple broads out of the corner of his eye. From what he could see of the brief glimpse, they were in torn, faded blue jeans; T-shirts, white with some sort of logo; jackets; scuffed shoes, probably tennis shoes; and _lots_ of hair. Sav immediately altered course to further check the girls out, leaving Joe to walk on for a few more strides before he realized the bassist was no longer with him. Puzzled, he stopped, looked around, saw Sav was homing in on a couple of birds, and was soon on his bandmate’s six.

The two girls were talking to each other but stopped when Joe and Sav were within earshot. One of them, a blonde, gave the boys elevator eyes before asking, “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Joe bristled. Everyone in the band looked young for their age—Rick was actually twenty yet he looked sixteen—and they knew it. He said shortly, “We were done with school years ago. We’re in a band, actually.”

The other girl, this one with black hair, gave an odd little gasp. “I thought you looked familiar! You’re from Def Leppard, aren’t you?”

Joe couldn’t help noticing that the blonde was rolling her eyes and shaking her head slightly, almost as if she were saying, Now you’ve done it. The singer exchanged glances with the bassist, whose facial expression made it clear he was trying not to laugh. Clearly, Sav wasn’t going to be much help. So the lupine answered, “Yeah, we are.” _Funny, I didn’t think we were that big in the U.K. Not quite sure why we’re more popular in the U.S., though._

“Don’t encourage her,” the blonde muttered. “Please. Some of us _want_ to stay sane.”

“You’re sure about that?” Sav murmured under his breath. The raven-haired girl’s friend slapped her palm to her own forehead as her friend squealed in excitement, muttering, “I _told_ you not to encourage her.”

This time neither Leppard made an attempt to hide his amusement. Both Sav and Joe were grinning so broadly they thought their faces would split open. Now that Joe had a closer look at both girls, he could see they really _were_ pretty, with a nice bit of meat on their bones. His gaze darkened, his mouth watered, and . . . oh no.

Sav’s fingertips grazed the back of his hand, and Joe quickly curled his fingers into his palms, hoping to God that the girls hadn’t seen his claws. When he unfurled them a couple heartbeats later, they were human, much to his relief. However, despite the warm weather, he was growing even hotter—and his body temperature was higher than a human’s anyway.

He couldn’t shift, not yet, it was too soon.

Somehow he choked out a, “See you later, yeah?” Then he was gone, turning the corner.

Sav shot both girls an apologetic look and hurried after his friend. Joe, hearing footsteps behind him, whipped around in a fighting stance. He relaxed when he saw it was just Sav, but the wary look never left his green eyes.

“You okay, mate?” Sav asked.

Joe tried to slow his breathing, gritted his teeth. The heat in his skin dissipated; the danger of him shifting was fading—for now. His throat was dry; he cleared it before replying, “Yeah. I’m okay now.”

There was a pause. Then Sav asked, “So, d’you think she liked me?”

“Which one?”

“The blonde. Clearly, that black-haired chick was drooling over you.”

A hint of the wolf crept into Joe’s eyes, and the dark smirk was so uncharacteristic of him, so _not_ Joe, that Sav was starting to freak out a little. Upon seeing the bassist’s nervous expression, Joe’s smirk widened as even more of the wolf slid into his green eyes. Since one-half of his face was now in shadow, the overall effect was downright creepy, if not evil. Joe murmured, “Yes, she was, wasn’t she?” His ’wolf, remembering the shapely, muscular, female body, licked its lips hungrily; his human self mirrored the action.

He snapped out of it when he realized Sav was staring at him. The bassist said, “Uh, Joe?”

“What?” he snapped.

“Are you _sure_ you’re all right? You sort of had a serial killer thing going on for a moment there.”

Joe glanced away and found he was looking in the direction where the two girls were. He retorted, “Bite me.”

“If I did, it wouldn’t do anything. And I wasn’t seriously considering it, but if you want . . .” There was a grain of laughter in Sav’s voice.

“Shut it, you wanker.”

Sav merely grinned.

*

When the two Lepps finally returned to the studio, they found Mutt was waiting for them—and he looked pissed.

“Where were you?” he demanded as soon as Joe and Sav entered the building. “Steve, Rick, and Pete had no idea where you were when I asked them, and we wasted God knows how much time looking for you! If either of you pull a disappearing stunt like that again—”

“Joe couldn’t concentrate on anything, Mutt,” Sav jumped in, knowing how weak it sounded. He didn’t care. “I was just trying to help.”

“I wonder how he did that,” came Steve’s voice from behind Mutt. Muffled laughter issued from Pete and Rick.

“Shut it, you lot,” Joe snarled. A bolt of satisfaction hit him when he heard strangled gulps. The satisfaction shriveled and died as Joe forced himself to meet Mutt’s eyes.

“That true?” the producer asked.

“Sav and I just went out for a bit. I haven’t been feeling well lately and the thought the fresh air would do me some good.”

“Bet that’s not all he got,” Pete muttered.

Joe growled quietly, trying not to let the full sub-vocalization come through. His entire body tensed; right now, he wanted nothing more than to tear into warm flesh.

A hand slipped into his. Glancing down, Joe saw that the hand belonged to Sav. Gradually the bloodlust faded, and he looked up to see Mutt’s gaze on his and Sav’s joined hands. The werewolf, a warm flush creeping up the back of his neck, gave Sav’s hand a quick squeeze.

The bassist’s hand retreated into his jeans pocket.

“It won’t happen again, Mutt,” Joe heard himself say. That was the closest he could say in way of an apology, since the producer had a thing about apologizing being a sign of weakness. So did the Duke, if Joe was remembering correctly: Never say you’re sorry, it’s a sign of weakness.

“Yeah, it will,” Mutt said. “I know you guys.”

Sav’s lips curled upward at that. “Sure do. Now, if you’re done chewing us out, we have—”

“Work to do,” Mutt finished.

“I was going to say better things to do, but ‘work’ works, too.”

Joe mentally groaned. _Now is not the time to get mouthy, Sav,_ he thought. _Especially not when I’m so unpredictable._ Even though he wasn’t forced to shift until the moon reached its zenith, his animalistic urges were stronger during the day and in the hours before the transformation. He murmured, “Don’t get mouthy, Sav.”

“You’re one to talk,” the bassist shot back quietly.

Mutt’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” werewolf and human said quickly.

The producer sighed. “Well, it doesn’t look like we’re going to get much done today anyway. You guys might as well go home.”

That was all the encouragement Joe and Sav needed.

*

It was around nine-thirty at night, and Joe was in his room in the house the band was renting, sitting on the bed and strumming an acoustic guitar. He was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and not much else—his clothes usually shredded during the ’wolf change. The rest of the band was out on the town, hitting the clubs—except for Sav. He had gone out to the store to buy a few . . . _necessities_.

Suddenly tired of the guitar, Joe hopped off the bed and set said instrument in its case. He slid the case under the bed, turned off the light, and collapsed into a plush, comfortable armchair tucked in the corner closest to the window.

A short time later, Sav appeared in the doorway. The bassist flipped on the light-switch, walked into the room, and tossed the black duffel bag onto the bed. Its springs protested loudly, but it didn’t look like Sav cared.

Then he noticed Joe, hidden in the shadows, and jumped. “Whoa! Give a guy some warning next time, will ya?”

Joe said nothing.

Sav reached for the duffel and began to unzip it. From where he was sitting, the lupine could easily hear the _clank_ of metal striking metal. Joe dug his fingernails into the arms of the chair, struggling with his wolf’s urge to launch himself at his bandmate and tear him apart.

“I found these,” Sav said as he began to take a heavy chain out of the bag. “I thought we could— Hey, Joe, would you stop looking at me like that, mate? You have that serial killer look going on again, and it’s freaking me out.”

“Did you really think I would let you put these on me?” Joe asked, voice low, as he pawed at the metal links, held them up. “Chain me up like a dog.” The contempt in his voice was clear. The chains slid through his fingers and landed heavily on the floor. “I’m not a dog, Sav.”

“Okay, so, no chains. I get it. D’you want anything? Water?”

“I—”

“Be right back.” Sav disappeared and was back two minutes later carrying a bowl and bottled water. _Joe_ was written on the side of the bowl in black Sharpie.

His eyes holding Joe’s, Sav tipped the bottle and filled the white, plastic doggie bowl almost to the brim, tossing the water bottle back over his shoulder when it was empty.

Joe’s upper lip curled in a silent snarl. “Really, Sav? I’m _not_ an animal!”

“I’m sure some girls would say differently. And Joe, considering the way you’re acting right now, I wouldn’t be saying that.”

The serial-killer mood in Joe’s eyes faded, only to be replaced by a sly look. “You want it, don’t you?”

Sav blinked, thrown off for a second. “What?”

“The Bite,” Joe said, as if it were obvious. He was rising from the chair, stalking toward the bassist in a half-crouch, ready to spring at any moment. 

Sav shook his head: “I don’t want it.”

Joe cocked his head, listening closely. “Did you hear that? Your heartbeat stuttered over the words _I don’t want_. You may think you’re telling the truth now, but you’ll want it eventually.”

“Joe,” Sav tried again, “listen to me: _I don’t want_ the Bite.”

“Liar!” Joe yelled, lunging toward his bandmate. Sav, caught by surprise, crashed to the floor with one very out-of-control werewolf on top of him.

“You know you want it,” Joe growled in Sav’s ear, voice dangerously husky. The innuendo didn’t go unnoticed by the bassist, who bucked his hips and writhed under the singer in a desperate attempt to free himself. Sav tried to reassure himself with the knowledge that Joe, _his Joe_ , wasn’t here right now, that this was the ’wolf talking.

It didn’t work. Struggling wasn’t doing him any favors either: Joe was too strong. (Almost involuntarily, a line of “Let It Go” rang in Sav’s head: _Slow down, hold on. You’re too fast, too strong._ )

Then Sav’s fingers brushed against the chain link on the floor. He snatched it up, wrapped it around Joe’s leg, and managed to tie and lock the rest of it to the radiator, Joe fighting him all the while.

Realizing he was caught, Joe yanked at the chains on his leg. When they didn’t give, he glared up at Sav, eyes flaring turquoise. “What are you doing?” he roared

The bassist, who had used Joe’s momentary distraction to escape, now kept a safe distance as he studied the lupine. “It’s for your own good, Joe.” 

Joe growled, the sound more animal than human, and tugged at the chains again—not that it helped any. “Let. Me. _OUT_!”

Sav shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. You could hurt or kill someone.”

Joe struggled once more, the serial-killer look back in his eyes saying he _wanted_ to murder someone—preferably Sav. Said bandmate was smart enough to stay on the opposite side of the bed, a safe distance away from the angry werewolf.

This was the first time Sav was properly able to observe the transformation process, since Joe always went off on his own during the full moon. Was that a werewolf thing? Sav mused. He’d ask later, after this whole ordeal was over. As in there were two more nights . . . was it only just one night? The bassist was beginning to have a headache with these thoughts, so he racked his brain for something else to think or talk about.

“Distract me,” Joe’s voice broke into his stupor.

“What?” Sav blinked a couple times.

“Distract me,” Joe repeated. “Take my mind of these . . . chains.” He stared at the chains in disgust, clearly not forgetting how they’d come to be on his hands and feet. His breathing slowed, then at times would hitch and speed up until he was panting, as if the animal in him had found itself caged with no way to escape. Sav wasn’t sure how long this went on. It was almost as if Joe was in werewolf labor, he mused. The bassist thought this was a great metaphor; however, something told him that Joe wouldn’t appreciate it. So he kept quiet.

“Sav?”

“Hhmm?”

“You’re not doing a very good job of distracting me.” It came out as a warning.

“Can you imagine what the others would think if they walked in on us right now?” It was the first thing that came to Sav’s mind, and his eyes widened. _Did he really just say that out loud?_

A chuckle came from the chained form. Joe, his Joe, looked up. “They’d probably think we’re doing some kinky bondage thing. You’re not into that, are ya?”

“What?” Sav stared for a moment, his mind blank for a second. Then the implication clicked. “No!”

“Okay, okay.” The tone of Joe’s voice made it clear he was laughing. “No need to be so defensive. But with me tied up like this, what else is there to think?”

“I don’t do role-play,” was Sav’s brilliant comeback. His mind was still hung-up on the bondage comment. “Or BDSM.”

It was creepy how the wolf would flash into Joe’s eyes. His lip would quirk upward in an uncharacteristic smirk, and his lengthened nails picked absently at his T-shirt. One eyebrow would also raise, disappearing into Joe’s mop of dirty-blonde hair. A brooding expression would come over his face as he glared at Sav, probably fantasizing how much he would enjoy hurting him, tearing him apart. Sav found it disturbing, how obvious the change was.

Then, for shorter lengths of time, the brooding expression and _smirk_ would vanish; Joe stopped shredding his shirt; his chest heaved with pants again, like he found he was somewhere he didn’t want to be and had no way to get out.

“Why are you here?” Joe asked suddenly, jerking Sav out of his observations. “I could easily hurt you, you know.”

“You haven’t, though,” Sav said. It was a bit of a realization for him.

“Maybe you want me to.” Joe’s voice was low, dark, sending shivers down Sav’s spine. “Maybe you’d enjoy it.”

Dealing with this side of the singer was terrifying, even if it was only for a few hours. Sav was already tired and they’d been like this for maybe forty-five to fifty minutes. Was it even possible to have whiplash from someone else’s emotions? Sav wondered. Because seriously, this was freaky. It was like there were two different people inhabiting Joe’s body. Sav had heard of multiple personality disorder, but it wasn’t quite the same thing with werewolves, he supposed.

Presently, Sav shook his head. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” the chained ’wolf said quietly, and it sounded like the Joe Sav knew. “Who would want this for themselves?”

“Pete maybe?” Sav suggested, shrugging.

Joe glanced up again, a dimple creasing his cheek as he smiled. “Yeah, but he’s drunk half the time and an idiot.”

“Mmm,” Sav murmured agreement. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Pete—he did—but he didn’t like slamming a bandmate. “He’s not going to last much longer, is he?”

Joe gave a loud sigh. “I don’t think so. We’ve given him too many chances already.” The chains around his wrists and ankles clinked as he shifted his weight restlessly. Then he smirked and glanced up at Sav. “BDSM, huh?”

“Shut up,” Sav said mildly over Joe’s snort of laughter. The singer, when he’d recovered, said, “You know, I’m an alpha.”

“Huh?”

Joe rolled his eyes. “The dominant ’wolf in the pack.”

“Oh.” Then it dawned on Sav what the singer was saying. “Oohhh.” Both of them were bright red, but neither cared.

“Can you turn off the light?” Joe asked suddenly.

“Wha—? Oh, yeah.” Sav flipped off the overhead light switch, leaving the room illuminated only by the outside streetlights and the full moon. Still cautious, he perched on the far corner of the bed. “How did you become a werewolf?”

“I had the Bite when I was about six—completely by accident on my part.”

“No, I meant the very first werewolf. Was the first one bitten or something?”

That _smirk_ , the one that scared Sav so much, was back on Joe’s face. “No. We’re descended from Lycaon. How much of Greek mythology do you remember?”

“Really, Joe?” Sav gave him an are-you-kidding-me look.

“Okay. Well, Lycaon was a king of Arcadia in Ancient Greece who killed his sons and fed them to Zeus in a soup to see if he was really the King of the Gods. Zeus, when he found out he’d been eating human flesh, turned Lycaon into a wolf as punishment. They call lupines lycanthropes, named after him, the first werewolf. Now there are pureblood lupines—whole families with a nice clear line—and newbloods, or ’wolves who are recently bitten. And yes, any one of us can turn a human. Rank in a pack has nothing to do with it.”

“And the full moon?” Sav dared to ask.

“It’s only full for actually one night but appears full for two more days. So technically the forced transformation is only one night a month but I’m more susceptible to its influence the other two days. I can also shift at will; the reason the full moon’s associated with us the most is ’cuz it’s the ’wolf Sabbath. Night helps, true, but it’s not necessary.”

“Mmm.” Sav was busy processing all this.

Suddenly Joe made a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a snarl and jerked his whole body, trying to free himself. Sav instantly scrambled across the bed to try and help, lost his balance, and toppled off, landing on top of the thrashing werewolf—completely by accident, of course.

“Joe, what are you doing?”

“Someone’s coming,” the ’wolf hissed. “Untie me!”

Sav pretended to consider it. “No.”

Joe growled. “Sav, please. Just do it!”

A familiar voice sounded from the doorway: “What’s going on in here?”

Beneath Sav, Joe stiffened, his breathing shallow.

“Nothing, Pete,” Sav heard himself say.

Pete took a few more steps into the room, pausing when Joe snapped, “Get out of here!”

“Joe? You all right?” Pete shuffled closer. “Why are you in chains, mate?”

Sav was definitely worried by now, Joe could tell. The ’wolf’s breathing was labored, his T-shirt soaked in sweat. His vision turned scarlet, eyes glowing like beacons in the dark room. Outside the window, the round, silver moon— _my moon_ —inched closer. _Good moon._

 _Shut up,_ he told his ’wolf.

“Get out,” Joe ordered Pete in a low voice. “ _Now_.” His body was burning, and he could feel his canines lengthening into fangs. “Sav, you might want to get off me now.”

“Hhm? Oh, right.” The bassist scrambled off him, taking what remained of the singer’s shirt with him.

“Will someone tell me what the bloody ’ell is goin’ on here?” Pete snapped, some of the drunken slur disappearing from his speech.

“I don’t really know how to tell you this,” Sav began awkwardly, “but Joe’s a werewolf.”

“Oh.” Pete was silent for a moment. “Makes more sense than the two of you makin’ a film, I guess. We could ’ear you all the way downstairs—I think. Mostly Joe yellin’.”

Joe snarled a little at Sav’s smirk. “Beat it.” Already he was starting to shake, unable to hold off the transformation any longer.

Pete, seeing his friend’s features begin to morph, booked it. Sav followed at a more leisurely pace, shutting the bedroom door behind him. Soon, all that had been human for Joe was consumed by ’wolf.

*

Hours later, the gray light of dawn weakly filtered in through the window. Sav opened the door to Joe’s bedroom and silently slipped inside.

Joe, shirtless and in human form, was slumped against the radiator, asleep. He stirred, then lifted his head, blinking away the foggy haze. Something clenched in Sav’s gut when he saw the skin on Joe’s wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, but he dismissed it.

“See,” the bassist quipped, “this is why you need me to stay human. I”—he dug something out of his pocket—“have the key.”

“You’re the one who chained me up in the first place,” Joe mumbled. “Now untie me already. I’m starving.”

Sav smiled to himself as he crouched down and began to unlock the chains. It was good to know that some things never changed.


End file.
